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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Monday, 29 June 2009

Hunting games

The Photographer forwarded me an invite to participate in a "subby hunt". I've always been attracted to the idea of this, in a similar way to the idea of a slave auction - the public nature of it, the vying for attention, the concrete nature of being caught or bought. Who doesn't like the thought of being chosen, of being selected as the perfect person to have terrible things done to them. Then there is the thrill of being chased, heart rate rising, senses on edge and the potential to be hog tied and carried back, triumphantly.

However, the more I thought about it, the more I realised I would be terrible at it. For a start, the game is set up to the advantage of the Doms (unsurprisingly), they get a head start to hide out in the field and prepare traps and schema for hunting the subs. Which means that it is likely to be over fairly quickly, which seems unfortunate. Secondly, it is a game, and I have a tendency to need to win at games. I have a competitive streak that is perfectly well-behaved in normal situations: I hand my pride, together with my will over to the person in charge, trusting them to give them back afterwards, allowing me to relax into another's arms, and desires. But in a field, fully clothed, with a lot of strangers, with a scorecard of items to collect? That's more difficult. If I'm going to play, I want to win, but this is a game designed to make the submissive "lose" (in terms of the game, obviously being caught and taken away is the point). Finally, and this is the most tricky, there is the issue of consent and safety. Beforehand, all submissives must complete a form, detailing what they are prepared to do, and with who. You can even specifically state one person who you want to capture you, for safety's sake, there are a lot of limits on the amount of struggling and fighting that can be done (very little). Sadly, I just couldn't imagine myself being able to enjoy this game, no matter how attractive the idea is. It feels like a contrivance (which of course it is) in a schoolground chase me, chase me! sort of way. Because, like kiss-chase, the personal objective is to be caught which makes it feel forced and fake: I don't think I'd be able to run. To my mind, there wouldn't be any point to it since I could just stay with the person I wanted to catch me anyway and we could have a picnic, or something.

This made me think more about my attitude to scenes, roleplays, sexualised fantasies that orbit around the concept of "game". I suppose I need the game to feel realistic before I can participate, for the risk and reward to be genuine. For example, the poker night works for me because of the element of chance involved in the cards, and also that I am not the one playing, I take the forfeit for the Domme I am partnered with.

I tried to work out a way in which the hunt could be refined, to work for me. Certainly if the submissives were given a head start, and then they were actually hunted (like foxes and other animals) that would work better for me, rather than dumbly running into a gauntlet. I like the idea of incorporating a sense of fear and tension, so not knowing the number of hunters, or who they were, what they might do to you when they got you. I also would want to be able to fight back, to struggle properly, to hurt and be hurt in the way that a wild thing might do. Obviously, this game requires more trust and knowledge about other play partners, but I think it could be much more exciting, for me at any rate. Further experimentation needed.

Friday, 26 June 2009


I'm in the gym. It's become a new pastime to peruse the bodies of fellow masochists and wonder what they might be like in bed. Is he a pervert? Is she? Are they? It's similar to the game that I play on the tube only at least here there is the definite knowledge that we share a certain attitude toward the body. To our bodies. Whether it is about the way they look, their strength, the control we can exert over them, the way it makes us feel. We're kinky for it.

Aside from my permanent preoccupation with the shape and tone of men's arms and shoulders, there are plenty of distractions on offer which allow me to distance myself from the bad pop videos. The gym brings out the toppy side of me, it's possible that, high on endorphins and feeling powerful after running, my brain is ready to act in a dominant direction. Or it might simply be the smell of sweat and skin.

A man is on his knees, facing one of the machines, his taut bottom raised slightly and it is all I can do not to reach out and give him a gentle smack. I remind myself that this is neither the time nor the place and that I must wait until Friday night. He's heaving on the weight machine, pulling himself from an upright, kneeling position to prostrate bow. It looks good. He's also clearly straining against a lot of weight. That also looks good.

One man, looking a little like Heston-like, with shaved head and serious spectacles in engaged in a balancing game on three footballs. His feet rest together on one ball, each arm is stretched out as if to do a push up, each hand resting on another ball. He holds himself in place, I can see the twitches and flickers of his muscles as he makes the tiny little adjustments needed to keep still. I love acts of predicament, of willing oneself to do something, to avoid something else. The force and desire behind it. The look of pain that flits across his face. I smile to myself, as I picture him naked with a few lit candles underneath his stomach, or teasing him with a crop between his legs.

I'm thinking of starting to go three times a week as opposed to the usual two. It can't hurt.

Thursday, 25 June 2009

Sexual relations

It has now been, officially, too long since I last had sex. That uncomfortable feeling beneath the skin, a kind of sluggish lethargy combined with general grumpiness. It's an itch I can't scratch, after all, I made a promise, which I intend to keep. The sexual rules of my relationship with The Photographer have changed over time, reflecting the change in our Ds "seriousness" I suppose, for want of a better word. The way we fuck is a descriptor of how we relate to each other over time.

Initially there were no rules, except the ones specifically created for when we met, in hotel rooms around the city. Clothes I'd choose to wear, ways of behaving. The focus was more on play and fucking, in isolation, singular events which we might (hopefully) repeat, but there was little sense of continuation. The joy of finding such an awesome chemistry. Tingle down my spine from a kiss, something read about but rarely experienced. Cliches made real. There was a wariness to it, also, we didn't know each other, bodies, minds or desires very well, and were both learning. That gave it an edge, the aura of strangers, the newness of exposed skin, the fear of doing something wrong without the cushion of love, of care. We were there for the sex. If that wasn't working, then we would just leave. There were others. In between we composed endless, pornographic situations for each other, line by line, either via text or on IM. Constructing whole worlds of predicament to keep ourselves grinning whilst at work.

Now we are different. Our relationship has changed, there is a relationship, for one thing, and it has altered the way we fuck. I don't fuck anyone else, and it's not a chore because of the lack of sex, it's a chore because of the lack of sex with him. We're not strangers anymore, although our bodies still keep offering up surprises. We don't play as much as we used to, and when we do, it's for less time. The cuffs, collar and crop stays mostly in its box, and I feel a pang of sorrow at its loss. We play more with other people, as a couple, than with each other, and I top him more often these days. We've moved over from being more SM focused to Ds, and the Ds itself is very gentle, and understated: there are very few signs and symbols to it, it's just the way we are, I am his. As a system of ownership, I'm happy with that, it's the lack of SM sex and play that bothers me, and the lack of conversation about sex. The IM, texts and emails have metamorphosed into notes about where we are meeting up for dinner, reminders of birthdays, little memos to see if the other is ok. Softer words. I suppose that in place of the urgency of our previous encounters we have a more relaxed and comfortable approach. We are more secure in ourselves and in each other, so the sex is more secure, less fraught with nerves and as a result, something has been lost, although a lot has been gained in terms of our connection, the sex has altered. He talks about it as a move from "explicit" to "implicit" and there is a great sense of safety and strength in implicit, but I miss the big, overt stuff. I remember vividly the first time he made me cry, in pain and hurt, and the rush that gave me. I remember it was quite a while ago.

I'm not especially happy with where we have got to. And its taken me some time to realise this, we've talked about it a little, and he's said we will work on it, but there's not a lot that can be done right now to fix it, sadly. The long distance plays a part, certainly, it only takes one weekend of one or the other of us feeling under the weather and then it's another length of days before we see each other again. Space and time have an effect also - meeting in hotel rooms as opposed to staying at my house, spending a weekend and wanting to do other things with our lives, see friends, shows, go to the pub. Less parts of our world devoted specifically for play.

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Deferred pleasures

In a week or so, The Photographer is coming to stay with me for a couple of months, I've been idly toying with various ideas for things we could do when our lives are no longer restricted to weekends (and the need to fit in dates with other people at the same time). I like the idea of always been ready, always available, easy access skirts and shirts. Of being grabbed by the hair when I get in the door, a hand closing around my mouth, pushed into the bedroom and over onto the bed. Fucked on all fours, rough and ready fashion. No words, just an expression of want and ownership. His.

And then the switch in me flips, and I think of things I'd like to do to him, how I'd like him to serve me - oral sex as an alarm clock, towel at the ready when I step from the shower, wearing a chastity device so no-one else can touch him but me. I want to take him out, show him off then take him home and indulge myself. Mine.

I catch myself grinning at the thought of it, the dailiness of it, being able to incorporate these little kinks and quirks into a routine, into a life. Everyday reminders of my connection to him, and his to me. Ours.

Monday, 22 June 2009

Complicated sex life

Went for coffee with Painted Lady over the weekend, and we were discussing the relative importance we placed on our sex lives and libido (high to very high) compared with other people we knew. I have to admit, I found it all very reassuring. To know that I'm not the only person to fail to understand chaste relationships, or relationships that still manage to work despite the lack of sexual spark. I'm sure it's probably just a failure of perception on my part, and that there are people who are very happy, and can manage to be in love without needing to physically express it: who don't view sex as a way of affirming the relationship, of showing how much you need and want your partner, how much you love them. I'm just not one of those people. If I don't have sex in a while, I get twitchy, and uncomfortable - especially if I am in a relationship, and haven't seen that person for a while. It's partly about missing them, but also about missing that connection, that specific expression of "us".

We spoke a bit about our bodies, and about how sexual attractiveness and feeling sexually attractive reflects on how we feel about how we look and hence, how we feel about ourselves. Which is where it starts to get complicated in the kinky bedroom, because the games of power and control stop being games of who can tie who to what, and start to become games of who we are.

Sex is strongly connected to my sense of self-worth, for better or for worse. Personally, I think it's for the better. I don't think that sex would be anything like as fulfilling if it didn't have that connection to my sense of "me". If it was just a simple physical act of putting tab A into slot B and generating pleasure, with no accompanying emotional or psychological frisson then surely it would render domination and submission totally moot. Without fear, guilt, love, without an intellectual desire or will beyond physical need it might just be play-acting. The "me" that encapsulates all of my own personal, private concerns would be unaffected by sex or sexual acts, they would never touch the boundaries of anything that truly bothered me, and, by extension, it would never have the potential to really thrill me. Things that are personal are dangerous to play with, that makes it exciting, and makes trust meaningful and powerful. The connection between sexual gratification and curious human psychological behaviour is at the core of a lot of Ds - only in this way could the act of offering oneself up to be hurt generate sexual pleasure, because of the feelings of submission which are enshrined in the desire to be controlled.

I stay thankful for complexities, then.

Thursday, 18 June 2009

Hard to beat

The Photographer offered me a beating, with a crop, a few days back, and of course, I could not resist. I was hoping for the long, slow, build up variety but got more of a short, sharp shock which was a little difficult to handle. I am interested in pain, really interested in pain, but I need a good warm up before I can enjoy any sort of impact, being a thin-skinned girl and all that. So, sadly, it wasn't long before it all got too much and we had to stop.

I'm slightly worried about this - that I might be somehow out of practice or no longer able to take the same lengths of beatings that I've enjoyed in the past, hoping for the former rather than the latter. The Photographer mentioned that he thought that beatings were more of a club activity, than something for the bedroom, because it is a "safe" activity to do in public. I can see his point, but can't say that I entirely agree. For a start, we don't go out nearly enough to make that kind of play the regular activity I'd like.
I also think that play in public can often be a little distracting, and I like the intensity of the connection between myself and my partner when I'm being hurt, I like the feeling of being alone with just them, plus there's the fact that you can move on easily to other activities, like fucking, which are great to do when bits of your skin are hot and tingling.

For me, pain is as much a part of being a submissive as serving or being used - it's an important sign of my submission, after all, it's easy (and very pleasurable) to lie back, hold my cunt open and be used. Less easy to hold myself in place and be hurt. I want to do more, to explore more. I like how it takes my breath away, the strength and sharpness of it, the intensity and focus of the feeling. I love feeling my eyes widen, hearing myself gasp and the way my flesh moves suddenly to being red-hot and alive with sensation. The physical reaction is a huge component - I don't need pain to be a part of a scene, or contextualised into a Ds punishment scenario (not saying I don't want that, just it's not a requirement for me).

I especially like the combination of pain and pleasure - of having the two there at the same time or alternating. I've been trying to think about good ways to describe it, and keep coming up with lines on a polygraph - smooth ones for the sultry build of pleasure and sharp jagged ones for the shock of pain. The two melding together just sends my brain into a completely different place, a happy prisoner of my body.

More please, Sir?

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Teacher vs trainer

The Photographer pointed me at a discussion on IC recently regarding the subject of submissive training - the nub of it was that someone was more interested in "becoming a student" in a similar way to geisha or other formalised courtesan learning, rather than being trained. This grabbed my attention, not merely because it pushed my japanophile buttons or my intellectual buttons but because I like the idea of BDSM as a learning process, and who better to learn with than your very own partner in crime?

In many respects, almost all of the encounters I have had over the years include something of the instructive, which perhaps says more for the way I think than anything else. But I've often come away knowing something new, either about myself, techniques or similar. I like the idea of making the relationship a bit more concrete however, to have a tutor rather than casually learning by observation and participation. For example, I'm currently searching for a mentor to help me top The Photographer, and the idea of making this arrangement into a hierarchical BDSM study - the mentor at the top, me in the middle and himself at the bottom.

There are also a lot of additional behaviours and patterns that could be adopted, to make scenes interesting, such as the traditional Japanese request for tuition, in which the student arrives at the door, kneels or bows and humbly requests to be taught by the sensei. Other protocol are already quite prevalent - 6 of the best for punishment and school room scenes, although the latter are not precisely to my tastes (age play is not really my thing), it shows how the structure could work in a roleplay environment.

The difference between training and tuition is fairly obvious. The trainer gives orders, the submissive obeys. The process is simple and one way, perfect for animal play, where you can slip into the calm space of not-being and follow orders. The teacher-student balance is different, for a start both are definitely human, and both are thinking. Blind obedience is replaced with a conscious care and attention to what is being done and why. It has the potential to be a two-way relationship given that it is discursive (animals don't really speak). There are a number of ways to think about how one might learn rather than be trained. The first is one in which the submissive is taught a specific techniques from the dominant - which would be a fairly straightforward tuition session, say on rope, for example. Another would be one in which the subject at hand was the Ds relationship itself - both practically and philosophically, indeed this blog forms part of the way in which I am a student of my own relationships and encounters.

The second is more interesting to me, I love the idea of becoming a student of my master's needs and desires: to be taught by him, and to learn with him, about his body and his pleasure. I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon than to both take the time to find out, together, what works and what does not. This is, of course, also a process of learning about my own submission, exploring the different areas of subject matter - bondage, sensory deprivation, pain, and finding out what each of us get from doing and being done to.

Tuesday, 16 June 2009

Got you pegged

Date on Friday turned out to be pleasant company but nothing else, sadly. Both myself and a member of the other party were feeling a bit out of sorts. Consensual pain is fine, wisdom teeth pain, less so. The Photographer and I went home to entertain ourselves, but come the morning I was still feeling horny and remembered that I had the baby clothespegs still to hand. He was still in sleepy-morning mode so after it became clear that he was more than happy to lie back and take it, but not in the mood for dishing it out.

I spent a diverting few minutes placing them in patterns on his chest, but it was actually quite hard to get them to hold firm (the penance paid for having a taut torso'd young man in ones bed). I decided to switch to his balls and the base of his cock, amusing myself at ensuring the pegs were sat in little rows, and alternating between stroking his cock and then stroking the pegs. I leant in close to him and continued to play with him, watching the skin grow taut next to where the pegs were, as his hardness pulled them tighter. I like CBT, a lot. Aside from the irony of hurting an area so associated with pleasure, I enjoy the precision of it, the focus. The fact that it is such a sensitive and responsive area, with delicate skin and reactive membranes is pleasurable. I love the vulnerability of it, with his legs spread, revealing himself to my ministrations - the trust he gives to me.

He was making some soft moans that only encouraged me to prolong the sensation. The process was also turning me on, so I put him on all fours, between my legs, to lick my clit - an experience enhanced by the fact that he was starting to suffer not just from the pegs, but from being very aroused himself. After he had given me a rather spectacular orgasm (orgasm from oral sex is very different to other forms of stimulation, but that's a post for another day), I removed just enough pegs from his cock so that I could fuck him, after gagging and blindfolding him, of course.

The difficult part with pegs and clamps is the removal. And there was no exception here, him lying on his back, having just come, whimpering and wincing as I removed them as quickly and cleanly as possible. Smirking only a little bit to myself as I looked at the tender, purple flesh. Gotcha.

Friday, 12 June 2009

Bag of tricks

The Photographer and I have a date tonight with a couple who we've been trying to pin down (been trying to be pinned down by them?) for some time now. We are hopeful for an evening play session in a hotel, or similar, assuming that they like the look of us, but nothing is ever certain. They requested that we bring some items for "show and tell" and so I've got the goodies, given that the majority of our kit lurks under my bed, and in my drawers, and under my staircase....

As usual, I probably put too much thought into what I was packing. Because what you bring along isn't just about what you want to have done to you, it sets a certain tone. At least, that's what I would notice and think about if I'd asked someone to do the same, like checking a man's shoes when giving him the once-over on the tube. So it is, quite literally, a mixed bag.

I've got a number of things in pairs, because that keeps us both involved - two blindfolds, two sets of cuffs, two gags. No impact toys - I don't have that many, and they are not precisely handbag sized, as open and artistic as my job is, walking into work clinking is probably not career enhancing. Or not career enhancing in the way I would like. What I do have, which is small, noiseless and something I've been dying to try out, is a set of little wooden clothes pegs bought from a stationary store. I'm hoping they will at least raise a smile, if not some thoughts.

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

Poker face

I received an invitation, by proxy, to a game of Strip and Whip poker. I can't play poker, fortunately, I don't need to know how. Both The Photographer and I will be submitting and serving at table as well as paying for the penalties when our assigned Domme loses a hand.

This is something that really appeals to me, all the more so when we received a lovely (and very precisely detailed) one pager on the rules for behaviour, was especially pleased to see rules for Dominants as well as submissives - they are encouraged not to drink alcohol, and to be aware of the protocol for treating other people's submissives. There were also some very nice lines in about how we submissives should behave, right down to the correct way to offer a drink (on one knee, wine glass held by the stem or cup held on one hand, handle facing the Dominant, eyes down). There is something very reassuring in well designed rules of engagement - you can tell that someone has put a lot of thought into the process, so they obviously care, and it means that there is less nervousness about what to do when, especially important when around new people.

I'm looking forward to it, for many reasons. First, it has been a while since I've had anything like a formalised play session, and I've always wanted to attend one of these games ever since Switching Sides told me about them. Secondly, I haven't done a lot of service, and whilst cleaning someone else's kitchen is not my idea of fun, waiting at table, is something I quite enjoy - I think it is the providing aspect. Finally, what will be especially interesting for me will be the opportunity to submit to women, which I have not done much of and am very keen to explore. I have a feeling that there will be a very different dynamic, given that I am not generally sexually attracted to women, however I do get a sexual kick from submitting, so that contrast is one I'm keen to play around with.

Tuesday, 9 June 2009


I like cleaning The Photographer's cock with my tongue, after he's used me. The service element is pleasing, in and of itself, and the fact that it has practical use makes it better - like CP or pain play I can get more into service if there is an actual reason for doing it. Being punished for something that you have done wrong is cathartic, and so is serving in this case - it is the end of the act, a set of finishing touches that show him how much I care. There is an element of body worship involved also, I like the way that all parts of my body are used to ensure his pleasure, to make him not just sexually satisfied but also comfortable and content. Happy.

There is a routine to it, which is pleasing in and of itself, I like ritual and I like things to be done just so - neat and precise. I'll start between his legs, the inner thighs, then move to his perineum. The trick is to lick in firm, solid strokes, the goal is cleanliness, not sexual arousal: it's about using my body as a efficient medium of service. I'll move over to his balls, first one, then the next, I like to try and use my hands as little as possible, focusing on the mouth and the tongue to sweep away any trace of my own juices, I'll lick and suck until the taste is gone.

Once this is done, I'll move over to his stomach, down from the belly-button and over to the base of his cock, licking in a smooth movement from one hip to the other. I save his cock for last. Lapping like a dog, and there is a sense in which this is somewhat animalistic, slightly fawning in its appreciation. Again, I'll use the minimum strokes required to do the job, not because I want to get it over and done with, but because I don't want to get distracted (which I will) and end up playing with him, when I should be cleaning him. I place his cock in my mouth at the last, and giving a few, long pulls up the shaft I wrap my tongue around the base, finishing with one or two little flicks to the tip.

He'll reach down, and put a hand on my shoulder then, pulling me up and holding me to him. I'll rest my head on his chest and maybe he'll stroke my hair. I'll close my eyes, smiling. Mutual satisfaction.

Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Contingency plan

My dress is pushed up to reveal my cunt. The exact amount of space required for The Photographer to use me, no more and no less. An efficient amount. He's still clothed, fly unzipped, pants moved aside to be able to penetrate me with the minimum amount of effort or preamble. Perfunctory fucking.

I've been waiting for him to use me, to want to touch me, to play with me all day. I'm disappointed, but trying not to show it, after all, I'm his. That's the deal. To be used as much or as little as he wants. I hope for the former, but here I am with the latter. I'm not managing it very well, truth be told. There are some, small parts of the moment that I am enjoying, little corners of headspace that are pleasurable: being used is always good, being used without hesitation, without pause for niceties is even better. I like the idea of being always ready, always willing, always wanting. I also like the feeling of being an object that partial clothing gives - I am neither undressed or re-dressed in a sexual or romantic context, I am just made ready for use.

However, these mental compensations are not enough. I feel a sense of loss, of unease and unhappiness. I'd cleared the evening, hoping for a nice, long play session, but alas, not to be. The problem with the type of D/s that we have in which he controls the sexual use of my body, is that I am contingent on him wanting me (and wanting to do things to me) which has the effect that if he doesn't (for whatever reason) I feel like I've missed out. I often use sexual activity as a barometer for relationship health, which can be problematic. Like now. Quickies have their place, as required release of sexual tension where not enough time can be found, but not as a substitute.

There is selfishness in my submission, I am not an altruistic being, I enjoy sex and I enjoy kinky sex. It's not possible to totally surrender myself to what someone else wants and desires unless there is enough there for me also. We have had a couple of discussions about this, and I expect it might be an ongoing negotiation. Currently, I'm putting the hiatus down to the long distance, the heat and some other real life issues.

Monday, 1 June 2009

Getting it whilst it's hot

The weather is against me, it's causing The Photographer to wilt slightly and there has been something of a lull in sexual activity. I'm hoping to enlist the help of cold fizzy drinks, ice-cubes and showers to help freshen him up, because unfortunately(?) the weather tends to make me more, not less, interested in all things kinky. For a start, I can actually stand to be naked for long periods of time without the cold making me lose feeling in my limbs, and it would be a shame to miss out on any opportunity.

That said, some things are better avoided in the baking sunshine, such as we had this past weekend. There was an invite (circumstances prevented us from attending) from Reining-in our previous co-conspirator in our little ponies but the thought of being outside, in the heat, without full control over my factor 50 applications, only gave me red and sweaty thoughts of the unpleasant variety. It's a shame because I'm convinced that being a pony outdoors might somehow feel more "natural" than an indoors pony, but as with many things British, the weather is very important to how well that works out.